


'Scuse Me

by gubby



Series: The Thing but sexier [1]
Category: The Thing (1982)
Genre: Sexual Tension, Staring, maccready being a total chad, prior to relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27441175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubby/pseuds/gubby
Summary: A little experimental thing written for Mac! takes place in the same universe as the other fic in the series.Early mornings at Outpost 31.
Relationships: R. J. MacReady/Reader
Series: The Thing but sexier [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004778
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	'Scuse Me

Your alarm blares, waking you from the most pleasant dream. A dream where disembodied hands roamed your body, and you could feel a beautiful mane of hair against your hands. You slam your fist to the alarm clock, rolling your eyes to the back of your skull as you throw the blankets off of your body. The generator must’ve failed for a little while last night, because cold had sunk its way into your room. You guess you should be used to the cold by now, but you can’t help that you’re not. 

You tug on some shoes and clothes to go over your long Johns. You top it off with a big knit cardigan. Maybe being the only girl at an arctic base full of guys for six months would be more trouble if any of them could see your figure, if your hair wasn’t cropped like it was, if you bothered to put on makeup. But you weren’t here to invite courtship. You were here to work. 

You padded into the kitchen area, Nauls at the stove, Palmer and Clark mutually ignoring each other at the table while nursing mugs of coffee. Clark at least lifted his gaze and nodded towards you, Palmer kept fiddling with whatever was in his hands

“Morning, Nauls, what’s cookin’? Smells nice.”

“Scrambled eggs ‘n sausage, be ready in a few.”

“Want any help?”

“Get a new stick of butter from the fridge, please? Got some back there somewhere.”

You lean in the to scan over the contents of the fridge, picking through the drawers. 

You hear footsteps at the doorway, and a few seconds later a pair of warm hands gently pushed at your hips, sending a little shock through you. 

“‘Scuse me, hon, just passin’ through.”

MacCready. You didn’t remember the space between the fridge and the kitchen island to be that narrow, then again maybe your ass was bigger than you realized. From across the room you heard him ribbing Palmer with a “ _ and what are you lookin’ at?” _ . So maybe he  _ did _ look up to see you. 

* * *

MacCready woke with a shitty, throbbing headache. Not uncommon, also not fun, but he’d live. Dragged his hands over his face in an attempt to summon the will to get up, but it wasn’t happening. Not anytime soon. He slept in the Rec room last night, on account of being too damned drunk to make it back to his shack. The door was left open last night, it seemed, and he could hear your door creak open down the hall before you clicked it back shut, and your light footsteps grew nearer and then distant as you went towards the kitchen. 

And suddenly, he was sitting up, sliding on his shoes and tugging on his outer clothes, running a hand through his hair a few times. 

He got to the kitchen just in time to see your cute ass bent over at the fridge. And clearly Palmer and Clark could see it too. He could have used the other door, he could even have sucked in his gut and squeezed past you with a few inches of leeway, but where was the fun in that?

His grasp of your hips, light as it was, gave him a good idea of what was hiding under all those layers of clothing. He’d tried to peak at you, catch you by surprise sometime before you’d fully dressed for the day. A good chunk of them probably tried it. But they never saw anything more than what you’d wanted them to. And despite that, like everyone else on base, MacCready had his own personal stash of bikini models and playboys, you dominated his imagination. He was sure it was the same for many of the others. They could try all they wanted to deny it— yeah, you weren’t a model, you didn’t have false eyelashes and a teasing bite of the lip. But you were real, you smelled sweet, acted sweet, and most importantly, you were right there in front of them. 

“‘Scuse me, hon, just passin’ through.”

For those few precious seconds of contact, his mind raced and his cock probably twitched just a little. 

But all good things come to and end. In the dining area, Mac was greeted by Clark avoiding eye contact with him, and Palmer staring openly. First at him, then back to you. MacCready pulled his cap down over his eyes, much to Palmer’s immediate displeasure. 

“And what are you lookin’ at?”


End file.
